Trained by Butler
by AiyokuSama
Summary: Documentary style evidence for the real reason behind the fabulous skills of the Robins.


There is a common misconception in the capes community when it comes to Batman and his various Robins. Most are under the mistaken impression that the children are under the tutelage of the world's greatest detective. While there is some veracity to this statement, it is only the result of exposure to the reticent Bat. The truth of the matter is, they have been carefully trained by the world's greatest….butler.

Lets take a look at a few examples.

***  
Here we have the Timus Minimus in his natural habitat as he squares off against a stubborn Bat.

"Sit DOWN, Bruce," Tim commands in a quietly imperious voice, as his mentor once more tries to remove himself from the gurney in the medical bay. He glares at the man in his very best Alfred impersonation, which is positively frightening.

The man most feared by Gotham's underworld sits back down.

Gathering the rest of the supplies, the youngest Robin begins cleaning the ugly wound on the man's forearm. "You can't keep doing this to yourself," he scolds as he works, carrying on before Bruce can say anything. "You haven't slept in three days. I, for one don't intend to watch you suffer another broken back. You're lucky this is the extent of it."

The man glowers but holds his tongue as Tim begins the meticulous task of stitching the gash closed.

"After all, who is going to look after Gotham if you're gone?" the boy cajoles, aiming for the thread of duty that underscores everything the man does. "You've trained me well, but I'm not you, nor is Dick. And we won't even think about Jay in the cowl. So you need to take care of yourself."

Bruce is about to say something as the boy finishes his task only to find a mug of cocoa pressed into his hands. "Drink up, then upstairs," the boy proclaims in that same no nonsense voice that could only have been learned from the butler.

Curling his fingers about the warm ceramic, he blows on the steaming liquid then takes a large gulp, refusing to actually taste the contents.

As the man finished off the hot liquid, Tim cleans up, an activity that keeps him in close proximity to the billionaire. So when the man drops the mug and begins to topple, he's right there, supporting and helping Bruce to lie down on the gurney. He pulls a couple of blankets over him even as the stubborn man tries to fight the effects of the drugs now cruising through his system.

Tim smiles and shakes his head as he carefully tucks his friend, mentor and father in. "Sleep well, Bruce."

Apparently Alfred has instilled great paternal instincts in the Timus Minimus species. But this is not the extent of his influence. For another example we now go to find the Jasonus Grumpimus as he stalks the halls of the Wayne family manor.

Careful. Careful now. He's not thirteen anymore, so there's a lot more of him to try and hide in the shadows. Never mind that it hadn't mattered how small he was when he had been thirteen. Alfred almost always caught him. The man has a freaky sixth sense about when boys are up to no good.

Still, if it wasn't for that man, his sneaking skills wouldn't be nearly so impressive. No one ever expects a guy his size to be quiet.

Oops, not that floor board. He carefully steps over it as he painstakingly works his way towards his goal. Ears strain as he listens for the signs of activity, a tell tale whisper to alert him to the butler's presence. But no, nothing. So far.

Jay grins. He remembers the first time he'd managed to run the gauntlet that is Wayne Manor, without Alfred waking up to catch him. There had never been a greater feeling of pride.

Almost there, his mind whispers, _don't get cocky, Todd_. Alfred's butler powers are awesome and must be respected. Bare feet move soundlessly over the warm tiles, inching closer and closer to his goal. His finger tips barely brush the back of a chair, letting him know there are obstacles in the nearly perfect darkness. It's almost like a dance, moving around to avoid this or that blockage.

Finally he's at the counter. Carefully, millimetre by millimetre he begins to swing the cupboard open, revealing the contents to be found there in. This at least is easier now that he's grown. He can reach the top self and the precious contents therein.

His finger tips work carefully to support the base of the container so that it doesn't make a betraying scrape as he removes it. Jay's actions are almost reverent as he brings the canister to rest on the cool surface of the counter. Now, to just remove the lid…It takes a bit of work but there isn't so much as a hint of sound to betray his intentions. Then it's open and he can see the contents in the dim light coming through the window.

Dozens of peanut butter cookies.

Oh yeah, who's the man? Who has the sk--

The kitchen light blinks on.

Crap.

"You know, Master Jason, you could just ask." The Butler drones calmly as he regards his former charge with that costmary zen-like calm. "Of course, perhaps this is a fine time to suggest that you move back here permanently as you're stealth abilities clearly still need work."

And finally we turn our attention to New York City where we will find the rare creature Dickus Bendius as he begins his ritual of bedding down for what little remains of the night. Thankfully, this generous species is very adaptable to unexpected situations.

He doesn't even bother to try and stifle the yawn. It's been a very long night with lots of freaks to deal with. That Crazy Quilt wannabe almost got him, cuz Dick had been laughing so hard at the ludicrous costume. But he's home now and his bed is calling him. He tosses the filthy Nightwing outfit into the hamper and grabs some pyjama bottoms.

The door bell rings. HIS doorbell rings. At 5am. Oh this really can't be good.

This time he covers the yawn with his hand as he heads over to the door. Opening it, he finds himself confronted with the largest, saddest green eyes in existence. And green hair. And green skin.

"Gar?" he blinks and then is pulling his friend inside. "What's wrong?"

The next thing he knows, there is a blubbering green thing latched around his mid section as the Titan becomes to wail with only semi-coherence.

"She's gonna leave me, I know she is, she hates me, I suck as a boyfriend, I'm the worst….."

Dick blinks, then puts his arms about the distraught man and hugs him. When Gar shows no sign of letting go, he awkwardly walks them over to the couch and gives his friend a firm push. The green skinned one sank into the soft embrace dejectedly.

"You sit and figure out how to tell me what's wrong, I'll be right back," he informs the other before slipping into the kitchen. Alfred he is not, but he has learned to be prepared. He sets a pan of milk on the stove to warm and grabs the tube of Pillsbury Gran's Cookie from the fridge. Quickly slicing those, he stuffs them into the oven. Oh the modern innovations in last minute baking.

Hot chocolate and fresh cookies can fix almost any woe. It doesn't take long before he's got a tray full of sugary sweetness. Bearing it into the living room, he set it down on the coffee table. "Now then, tell me all about it. Start at the beginning…."

And so we finish our exploration in the world of bird conditioning and it's relation to a remarkable creature known as Alfred. Thank you for joining us and good night.

Alfred puts down the microphone with a tell-tale smile.


End file.
